Of Professionalism and Whining
by Mimzemmy
Summary: There are many ways to survive in the battlefield, and as many ways to die. To survive one must be the hardened professional. Not the easiest when a pesky spook is determined to get your attention.


I must apologize. My writing bug bites me but once in a blue moon. This I found tucked away from one of those times. In the interest of motivating myself to write, even when uninspired, I offer this up to scrutiny. If only to find out whether I should even attempt to finish it.

As always I apologize also for my phonetic Aussie accent. It is but one of my failings, and one I indulge in too often.

* * *

"I had a bad daaay."

The Spy's voice was a whine, the exact tone that pierced and grated in Sniper's ear. The marksman let out a low breath, exercised all his patience not to reach over and cuff the spook. He's here to annoy you, just ignore him and he'll go away. He wants a reaction, don't give it to him.

"Oh, you are so heartless. You do not care about my day, or me. How can you be so callous, mon amour?"

Sniper let out another breath, eye to the scope. There was little in the way of targets; the other team knew to keep out of the open, lest the opportunistic marksman take their head.  
There! He squeezed the trigger and smirked at the despairing scream that matched the rapport. He and his RED counterpart had been trading bullets all day, but this was his first kill.

His joy was short-lived, though, because a hand touched at his thigh and made him jump. The Spook had crawled over and positioned himself in front of Sniper. The hand moved up, crept along the sensitive inner thigh until it reached his groin. It rested there, a light but significant weight, completely impossible to ignore.

"I _said_; I had a _bad day_."

The spook's voice had gone from a whine to a breathy rumble that had Sniper biting sharply at his bottom lip. If he didn't stand up to the spook now, he never would. He glared down at Spy over the rim of his aviators.

"Yer day ain't even over, spook. There's still half an hour 'r so left."

"But it won't make a difference. Your team have the upper hand."

Nimble fingers toyed with his fly, the sound of the zip being pulled down too quiet in the sudden silence. He was holding his breath. Ignore the spook and he'll go away. C'mon y'old dingo, you can do this. You're a professional. Sniper peered through his scope again, scanned the battle for the enemy.

"Oh, look at that. I have the upper hand, now..."

A very warm and _ungloved_ hand had worked its way into his trousers and was stroking him though woefully thin boxers. Spy was laughing at his own joke, and apparently he meant business, since the gloves had come off. Sniper kept his eye to the scope, teeth ground so hard together it was a surprise he did not chip one of them. Ignore the spook and he'll go away.

Sniper was sure going away didn't consist of his belt being unbuckled and his pants being tugged down his thighs. He squeezed the trigger and the scream of another BLU rang out. He had no joy in the kill, not when his body was responding to the spook's light, teasing strokes despite his mental mantra. He spared a glance at his watch. 20 minutes until the end of the day.

20 minutes until he could fuck the spooks' brains out.

Spy hummed a little tune to himself as he ran his fingers along the hem waistband of Sniper's boxers. For all the comments about the "filthy jarman" floating around, the man was none the less a professional dedicated to his work. That made it all the more fun.

A quick glance up told him the red flush and light sheen of Sniper's skin wasn't just accredited to the hot day. His whole posture was rigid and tense. He'd get sore and cramped like that... lucky he had Spy there to help him out. Singing softly Spy pulled down Sniper's boxers, freeing his half-hard erection. Ah, what a beauty. Strong and lean and rugged, exactly like the man that boasted it. His breathy singing was brushing over the skin, he knew, and the moisture in his breath would settle and evaporate and- Ah, there it was. A shiver. Good.

Another shot rang out, almost in reproach. Spy paid no heed. He settled more comfortably in Sniper's lap, elbows draped over his lover's thighs. He allowed himself a little smirk before he lent in and nuzzled at the base of Sniper's dick.

"Why, hello there. So nice to know _you're _happy to see me. Oh yes, I felt that twitch. I'm happy to see you too..." The smirk grew to cheshire proportions when he heard Sniper choking indignantly on his tongue. "What's that? How happy am I to see you? Well... I suppose I shall have to show you."

Spy let his tongue slide out and licked slowly from the base to the tip, chuckled when he felt Sniper jump. His dick gave another twitch, and he rewarded the eager little thing with another lick. So tangy, salt-on-skin. It was delicious, made all the more so by the hyper-definition Sniper's jaw was getting from his too-hard clenched teeth.

The spook was talking to his dick. The spook was _talking to his __dick_ and he could feel the fucking thing respond. It was if the body attached to it didn't matter. He glanced to his watch again. 18 minutes.

Fuck, he wasn't going to last.


End file.
